Focus, Puckerman
by SingularToast
Summary: Paramedic!Puck helps tend to Rachel after a car crash.


**All this is merely made up from what I can remember off ER (I prefer Paramedic Gates over Dentist Carl, any day). Any mistakes regarding medical procedure and whatnot are all my own. Big thank you to ~db1983 for helping out the original flaws in my tale, though unfortunately I haven't been able to alter too much without changing the plot of the story.**

* * *

It should be compulsory for cops to get basic medical training, seriously. Saying 'she's bleeding, it looks bad' means fuck all after a car crash, Lopez. Hell, even _he_ managed to get his ass into gear after school and become a paramedic, so it couldn't be that hard.

Switching their siren on, Noah Puckerman looked at his partner and shrugged, pulling away from the curb and speeding down the road to the crash site – luckily the traffic that night was smart enough to get the fuck out of their way, and they made it there in record time.

But apparently that wasn't fast enough for some people.

"Take your goddamn time, Puckerman!" Yelled a frazzled looking Latina cop who jogged over to his door and yanked it open before he could even put the brakes on.

Pushing her out of the way so he could get out of the van, Puck ran to the back, beating Hudson there and fishing out their med packs. "Shut it Lopez, we got here as fast as we could. You're damn lucky it's us too, 'cause we were just about to finish shift."

Rolling her eyes, the cop grabbed his arm and tugged him along behind her toward the crash.

It really did look bad.

A tiny little buzz-box of a car – one of those stupid hybrid things by the look of it – had been pushed up onto the curb, its front end wedged between a light post and the newsagent on the corner, the windscreen a spider's web of cracked and splintered glass. Behind it, an old blue Buick had completely crushed the back end, but the driver was hanging around chattering loudly on his phone. The guy looked like he'd been woken from the dead; pale, almost white skin, shaking uncontrollably as he spoke to whoever was on the phone. But his eyes didn't once stray from the other car that he'd hit.

Now that he was closer, Puck could see the rusty colour of blood staining the inside of that shattered windscreen, and a limp arm hanging out of the wound-down driver's side window.

"Jesus, Lopez," Hudson yelled, instantly moving to the shaking bystander, pulling him away from the wreckage to take his vitals. "You could've given us a bit more to work with when you called."

"Hey!" She shouted back, still ushering Puck forward. "Diagnosing this shit is what you Meds are for, I'm just a cop." Pausing, she turned and grabbed Puck's shoulders, shoving him toward the tiny car. "Come on Puckerman, hurry up."

"Why the rush, Santana?" He asked, dropping his case and getting his first glimpse of the driver.

With her being slumped over the steering wheel and her hair covering her face, he couldn't see much of anything, but judging by the spattered blood around the car, she'd hit her head pretty damn hard. And no deployed airbag. Shit.

"She's a-a friend … Just fix it, okay?"

The tight tone and the way Santana's voice cracked when she spoke had Puck looking up at her in time to catch the fear in her eyes. Shit, this was one aspect of his job that he absolutely hated. There's was always a chance that the people you tended to would be family, or friends, or friends of friends, and if anything went wrong …

"San, calm down yeah? Go do your thing— get that dude's statement or something. I got this." He really should be tending to the girl, but having someone hovering over his shoulder was going to put him off his work anyway. Plus, he was right – Santana needed to get off her ass and do her job right now.

The Latina stared at him for a moment, then took a deep breath to calm herself. Seconds later her usual haughty sneer was back in place and she flipped him off. "Don't tell me what to do, jerkwad." Turning to walk away, she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder, saying in a small voice, "Her name's Rachel Berry," before hurrying over to Hudson and the other driver.

Rachel, right. Got it.

Turning back to the car and the wounded girl, Puck carefully lifted her arm and opened the car door, watching to make sure she didn't shift or slide out as he did so. "Hey Rachel, can you hear me?" He asked her, touching her shoulder gently.

A soft groan answered him.

Kneeling, Puck reached in when he heard her draw a raspy breath, and hovered his hand near her mouth to make she was actually breathing, breathing a short sigh of relief when he felt a healthy tickle of breath against his palm. Reaching further to test her pulse, again feeling a steady thud, Puck dragged over his case and started taking her vitals. "Finn!" He yelled over his shoulder. "Get me a gurney over here!" Brushing her hair aside to get a better look at her face – and at the gash that he could now see slicing across her forehead – he said, "Rachel? You with me?"

There was a pause in which Puck wondered if she was slipping in and out of consciousness, and then Rachel slowly tried turning her head toward him. "I … tried to tell her … it's not as bad … as it looks …"

"'Course it's not, but keep still, Rachel," he warned her, keeping an eye on her movements as he leaned in to carefully undo her seatbelt. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"My head … my shoulder …" The girl attempted to sit upright then and immediately started to sway. Reaching out blindly she latched onto the first thing she touched – in this case, the collar of his uniform – in order to steady herself.

"Woah, woah, slow down there," he said, moving again to brace her against his chest, glancing over his shoulder at Lopez and Hudson, who were arguing over something as Finn wheeled the gurney his way. Ex-lover's spat probably. Keeping a hand at her neck and shoulders, helping her stay immobile until they could move her, Puck looked over her body for any other visible injuries. There was blood all down the front of her shirt and short skirt, but he could see that besides a couple of superficial cuts on her arms and chest it was mostly from the head injury. There was a moment when Puck allowed himself to consider just how good-looking the girl was – shapely legs, short skirt, and decent features – before he berated himself for noticing. This was work, she was injured, and she was clearly Santana's friend. _Really_ not the time, Puckerman.

Still, a hot chick was a hot chick.

"He came out of nowhere!" She said suddenly. Looking up from what he was doing, he could see that she was staring across the road at the other driver. "I was on my way home, and he just flew into the intersection …" Motioning with her other hand, she mimed a crash and made a funny gurgly noise – he guessed that was supposed to be the sound of two cars hitting. But then she winced, and Puck frowned, leaning into the car to look over her shoulder.

"You shoulder?" He asked her, gently pushing aside her shirt to look over the skin there, already seeing some discolouration; no doubt from where the seatbelt had held her in place.

"Mmm," she agreed, eyes closing again. "Your hands are soft," she said in a low voice, and then her eyes flew open, locking with his. "Did I just say that out loud?"

Chuckling, Puck moved the shirt back into place and told her, "I get told that all the time." Actually, more often than not he got told that they were rough, that he was rough, that they liked it rough, but … well the change was a good one, and this woman made him think of soft things, of taking his time, of—

Crap, of getting her onto that gurney. Focus, Puckerman.

Getting her out of the car was easier than he thought it would be, but it looked like Rachel had a concussion of some sort because she promptly threw up all over the pavement, and slumped against his shoulder. Getting her cleaned up some, then onto the gurney and back over to the ambulance, Puck and Finn just stared when Santana followed them, jumping into the van right behind her friend.

"I'm going with her," she told them, her tone clearly implying that she wouldn't take no for an answer. "You—" Pointing at her partner who had followed them over, she said, "Follow behind."

There was no arguing with her; Puck would know. That's what broke them up in the first place.

"If you say so, Lopez. Finn, jump in the back. I'll drive."

"You're not going to stay with me …?" Came a voice, and Puck glanced up to see Rachel motioning at him with one hand.

"I'm here Rach, that douche has to fuck off and do the other part of his job, like getting a move on and getting us outta here." The glare Santana shot him spoke volumes.

Smiling in a reassuring way at Rachel, he said, "No worries babe, I'll be up in the front seat getting us to the hospital." Seriously, she was a patient and he was working and they were supposed to be getting her ass to the hospital. He seriously needed to focus.

Which was kinda difficult now that he was thinking of her ass.

It wasn't an easy dash to the hospital, but with Puck behind the wheel weaving through traffic and taking all the shortcuts he knew, it still didn't take very long. Swinging out of the van and greeting the waiting nurses, he helped Finn pull the gurney out and gave the hospital nurses the low down as they rushed Rachel through to a trauma room.

"Santana, come on, we gotta head back out," her partner said, trying to take her by the elbow.

"Fuck that, I'm staying."

Her partner said her name again, frowning. "We've got the rest of our patrol to do yet."

"Screw you Mike, I'm staying with her!" Catching Puck's eye, she mumbled, "I'm her in case of emergency." Pushing away from them, the Latina walked over to the trauma room door, peering through at her friend. She crossed her arms over her stomach, looking like she was trying to hold something in – hold her emotions in, more than likely.

Sighing, Puck exchanged a look with Finn. They were knocking off now anyway, right? "San," he said in a low voice, moving to stand next to her. "I'll stay. You head off and finish shift."

She looked blankly at him, then back through the trauma room door, and then back at him again. "You call me as soon as they're done with her," she said, poking a finger at his chest. "Anything goes wrong, and I mean _anything_ you call me, got it?"

"Jesus San, you gone soft for this girl or something?"

"Screw you, Puckerman," she told him, shoving past him and joining her partner again. "She's my bitch. Anything happens to her, you're in the shitter, you hear me?"

Sighing, Puck moved away from the door and dropped into one of the chairs that were littered down the hallway. "Yeah San, whatever."

She nodded once at him, and then stalked out of there, Mike following quickly behind. No need to guess who wore the pants in _that_ partnership.

Curious, he glanced back at the trauma room, watching as the Rachel chick spoke to one of the nurses while they assessed her. She looked up and met his eyes then, a slow smile crossing her face. He found himself unable to help smiling back at her.

"You alright if I leave man? Quinn's kinda antsy with the baby due and …" Finn trailed off and Puck tore his eyes away from Rachel to look up at him, watching as he fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Yeah dude, I got this," he replied, smirking. Quinn had this boy _whipped_, seriously. The chick was alright though, for a former cheerleader. She had seemed more his type than Hudson's when they'd bumped into her all those years ago one night out on the town, but apparently she had other ideas; hence the baby due in less than a fortnight.

A relieved smile crossed Finn's face, and he clapped a hand over his partner's shoulder before dashing off. "Thanks man," he called back.

Giving him a half-hearted salute in farewell, Puck slumped back in his seat and turned his gaze back toward the Rachel chick who was looking at him again. And again she smiled.

Again he found himself smiling back at her.

A while later, one of the nurses pushed the door open, asking him if he was there for her. He got to his feet and followed her back into the room.

"You were on site?" The nurse asked him, picking up the girl's chart.

"Yeah my partner and I were called out," he replied. "How's she doing?"

"I'm right here you know," Rachel piped up, looking between him and the nurse. "And I'm absolutely fine."

Puck looked her in the eye, and then took his time looking over the damages. The three inch cut on her forehead had been cleaned and taped up, the multitude of cuts and bruises littering her arms and chest had been cleaned, and a deep bruise was already starting to show on her shoulder from where the seatbelt had dug in. Lastly, the pale, almost sallow colour of her skin from the shock and blood loss wasn't exactly a pleasant sight. Funny thing was though, even with all that in mind, now that she'd been cleaned up a bit he could really _see_ her, and … _damn_. Catching her eye again, he just raised one brow at her.

She had the sense to blush at being proven wrong, and at least that brought some colour back to her face.

"I wouldn't call her fine," the nurse said, smiling wryly at the interaction, "But she's been lucky. Minor concussion and of course the injuries you can see. Bed rest, fluids, and we can supply painkillers." Looking down at Rachel, the nurse asked, "Do you feel comfortable going home? We're ready to discharge you."

"Um, well …" Glancing from the nurse to Puck, she said, "Santana – the officer here earlier? – she was supposed to be giving me a ride. My car …"

"Her car's fit for the wreckers," Puck interrupted. "Santana asked me to stay for you. I'll give her a call now."

The nurse nodded, and let him leave the room to make the phone call.

"_Puckerman, you gotta do a solid for me_," Santana said as soon as she picked up the phone.

Sighing, he kept his eyes on the trauma room and Rachel, who was staring after him nervously. "What?"

"_You gotta take her to my place. I'm stuck out on this stupid fucking run, and then we got this shitload of paperwork to get through because dipshit here can't follow protocol_." There was some scuffling in the background, and muted words, and finally a, 'Well, get the fuck out of my patrol car then', before Santana got back on the line. "_You're gonna do that for me, aren't you Puck?_"

Puling a face, Puck turned so Rachel couldn't see his reaction, and hissed into the phone, "You've got to be shitting me, Lopez. I don't know this chick, she doesn't know me, and I don't owe you any favours."

"_Douchebag, her car is totalled, she's got head trauma, and I'm her only ride home. What're you gonna do, leave her there? Let her walk home? Catch the subway? Huh? Knew you were a cold-hearted prick when it came to chicks, Puckerman, but I didn't reckon you'd be this much of a stupid fucker, and— Goddamn it Mike, would you shut that radio up!_"

Rubbing his brow, Puck just stood listening to the two of them bicker, remembering exactly why he hadn't stayed with Santana. She wasn't just a wildcat in bed, and it was plain tiring being in her company for longer than a few minutes. "Fine!" He interrupted her arguing. "I'll take her home." Not even bothering to wait for her response, he hung up the call and made his way back to the trauma room, just as Rachel was swinging her legs over the side of the trolley bed.

Her long ... shapely legs ... damn it.

Dragging his eyes up to meet hers, Puck smirked when he saw her blush.

"So ... Santana's still on duty. I'm your ride 'til she's done."

Rachel nodded, slipping her shoes back on as she stood up. "That's perfectly alright with me," she said, moving to thank the nurses, but there was an odd look on her face. He almost thought he imagined it, or would have waved it aside as just an effect from the concussion, but he swore he saw it. There was a nervousness that crossed her face as she spoke, but also a little anticipation. Then again, with how she was moving maybe it really was just the concussion. She moved slowly, and raised her hand often to hold her head. Even though her voice was stronger now and she didn't seem as affected by the nausea – thank god for hospitals and meds – the pain looked like it was still kicking through.

"Excuse me?" One of the other nurses called before they could walk out. She handed him a bag with Rachel's painkillers in, and advised him of the proper precautions he should use when dealing with her at home. Puck just gave her a look, pointed out that he was actually a paramedic and that she shouldn't be wasting her time, and walked out. With the meds, of course.

The ride to Santana's home was quiet, punctuated by whatever songs were playing over the radio, but the silence between them was also filled with furtive glances being shot at one another while the other wasn't looking. That, and Puck kept finding himself distracted by all that leg he could see out the corner of his eye.

He'd always been a leg man.

Near the end of their trip, only a few corners away from Santana's apartment building, the intro for some new song started and Rachel's face lit up. Why he noticed that when his eyes were supposed to be on the road, he didn't know, but when she started humming along with the tune, he found himself humming along with her as well. Until the chorus started, and Rachel began to sing. It was only soft, but her voice was just, you know, great. Whatever it was about it that made a voice good, hers did that.

"You're really good at that," he said gruffly, not really one to pass out compliments that often. Or at least, not compliments that he actually meant.

"Thank you! I've just started another music performance course at NYU."

"So, you're from around here?" He asked, hoping he wasn't wrong.

"Yes, yes I am," she replied, smiling shyly back at him.

When they got to Santana's apartment building, Puck insisted on helping her out of the car and up the single flight of stairs to the apartment door. She'd recently been in an accident, this wasn't exactly the best area, and … well, he kinda didn't want to leave her just yet. But he wasn't about to admit something like that, so he just told her the first two reasons. Not that she was complaining.

"Thank you again, Noah," she told him, one hand on the door as he stood out in the hallway. It was a bit of an odd feeling to be standing out there with no real intention of heading inside – he'd never gone to Santana's without an agenda before. "I feel like I've been such an imposition. I'm terribly sorry for being a burden." Chuckling softly, she added, "You probably had much better things to do tonight than look after a sick patient."

Puck just shook his head, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Shrugging, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, he told her, "San's my mate, we go way back. No biggie."

There was a flash of something through her eyes when he said that – disappointment maybe? – and she nodded once before looking away from him. "Of course. You're simply helping a friend. I'm sure she appreciates the favour."

Snorting, Puck shook his head, "She demanded it; I didn't have a choice." Shit, probably not the smartest thing to say. "I mean, uh … you know, I'm happy to do it and all. She was pretty worried 'bout you."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, and Rachel nodded again. "Well, thank you. I most definitely appreciate all your help."

"You're welcome." Puck stood there for a moment, just looking down at her, and then pushed himself away from the doorframe. "Right, well I'm gonna go. Here're your meds." Passing her the bag, he told her when to take them and how often and all that usual drivel, and then slid his hands into his front pockets. "So …" This was probably the last time he was ever going to see this girl. Strange, he was actually pretty unhappy about that fact, and maybe he was imagining it, but she didn't seem to like the thought either.

Taking a chance, Puck leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Just a light, quick kiss, nothing special.

It was Rachel who shifted forward and pressed her lips harder against his, and _damn_. She tasted as good as she looked.

They stayed there like that for a while, caught up in the moment, until Puck parted from her with a few deep breaths. It was then that he realised he'd pressed her against the doorframe and had his hands locked around her waist. Shit, the girl was suffering from a concussion. Continuing this was not a good idea.

Not right now anyway.

"Tell you what," he murmured against her lips. "I'll give you my number. Give me a call. You know, if you need someone to check on that head wound or something."

"Or something. You're not going to come in?"

Chuckling, he said, "Babe, even if this wasn't San's apartment, you wouldn't be up for what I want to give you right now."

Smiling wickedly, Rachel rotated her hips against his slightly, her smile widening when he let out a small sound of frustration. "Said who?"

"Said me, the medic. I'd hike up your skirt and do you right here if it weren't for that concussion," he replied, leaning in to kiss her one last time. The shiver he could feel run through her body at that statement was all he needed to know that she was definitely going to call him. "See you, babe," he told her, breaking away from her body and walking away from the apartment.

"Bye, Noah," she called after him. One last glance over his shoulder showed that she was still standing where he'd left her, running her fingers over her slightly swollen lips.

Sometimes he loved his job.


End file.
